


Tomorrow Can Pay the Rent

by pynch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Humor, M/M, Ronan Lynch Swears, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pynch/pseuds/pynch
Summary: "I'm Adam," the man greeted. He held his hand out awkwardly. "I figured we should get the formalities out of the way."Ronan eyed the hand, then eyed the person it belonged to. Gansey left out a few key details when he recommended Adam live with him. For starters, Ronan had to make a jackass of himself before finding out Adam wasn't hideous."Ronan." He shook Adam's hand. "Don't touch my fucking ice-cream."(or: an au where Ronan rents out the den in the Barns to Gansey's friend Adam)
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, briefly and only if you squint tho
Comments: 44
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't posted my own work in a hot minute, but it feels good to be back. i've written and trashed this fic like a hundred times over the years, but inspiration struck around 2 am (like it usually does), so i returned back to it and finished. hope you enjoy :~)

To an outsider, the elder Lynch brothers probably had a complex relationship. To Ronan, it was the least complicated problem in his life: Declan sucked. Declan always sucked, in the unique ways only Declan could suck.

"I don't see the issue," Declan told Ronan. They sat across from each other at some diner off the highway.

"I can tell you again," Ronan offered.

Declan blew some steam off his coffee and took a tentative sip. Ronan waited for the coffee to burn his mouth off, but he sat it aside unscathed. 

Bummer.

"'I don't want to' isn't an issue. It's a complaint."

"I think 'I don't want to' classifies as a fucking issue when it's my home you're asking me to pimp out," Ronan shot back.

"It was just a suggestion, Ronan."

That was the thing with Declan: he didn't offer suggestions. He cooked up ideas and gave the false impression that you could accept or refuse whatever bogus shit he came up with, when the reality was not so black and white. If it were, they wouldn't be sitting at some shitty diner debating the pros and cons of Ronan opening his home to strangers.

"A stupid one," Ronan told him, and settled back in his chair.

"It doesn't have to be," Declan replied. "There are numerous benefits to renting out the Barns. The first being a source of income. The second being an ease in tax breaks. The third being –” 

“You shutting the fuck up?” Ronan piped in. 

“Actually,” Declan started, adjusting in his seat the way he often did when delivering groundbreaking news. Hands clasped together, elbows on the table, a solemn expression. “Yes.

“Obviously, I would stick around to monitor the process, but after that, I’ll go. There won’t be any further discussion about financial hardships and questionable life decisions that led to them.” 

If Declan hadn’t caught him off guard, Ronan would’ve bristled at the direct jab. 

_I’ll go_.

Ronan tried to sit on the promise, but it towered over him, weighed down by baggage and emotional turmoil. 

Declan never just _went_. Not without leaving behind a path of destruction, but never by his own hand. Declan had a nasty habit of rattling his younger brother so much he spiraled like a tornado and bulldozed everything and everyone in sight. 

But still. 

The thought appealed to Ronan, just as Declan hoped it would. Ronan almost forgot how to exist in a world where Declan didn’t stare down his nose at him and demand more than he had. 

Where Declan didn’t decimate the memory of their father by pretending to be him. 

Ronan considered. Took his time finishing his coffee, and then left the table to order another. When he returned, Declan’s expression had pinched at the corners, the molded mask of civility chipping away. 

Finally, Ronan asked, “How the fuck do I become a landlord?” 

-

If Ronan knew the obstacles that laid ahead, he would’ve told Declan to shove it up his ass and walked away. 

For starters, the jackass contractor Declan hired to install separation-doors drilled into hollow wood and left Ronan with a gaping hole in his ceiling.

“That’s easy to fix,” Declan had promised, though the way he tossed his head back to stare apathetically at the crater didn’t help his case. 

On top of that, Declan and Ronan couldn’t come to an agreement on which parts of the house the renter had free rein, and which parts were off-limits. He suggested the upstairs, but Ronan shot it down quicker than a bullet. 

“Fuck no. There’s valuable shit upstairs.” 

“Move it to the attic,” Declan had replied. 

“That’s still upstairs, dipshit.” 

“Fine,” Declan relented, though he didn’t sound pleased about doing so. “We’ll veto access upstairs. What about the den?” 

“No.” 

“Ronan.” 

“There’s valuable shit in the den, too,” Ronan argued. 

“So move it upstairs.” 

“No.” 

The corners of Declan’s mouth pinched. 

“ _Fine_. What about the living room?”

“No.” 

“The kitchen.” 

“No.” 

“The front porch.” Irritation crept into Declan’s voice. 

Ronan pretended to consider. 

“Sure. I have a tent in the barns.” 

At this, what little composure Declan clung to shattered like a vase. He slammed the large manila folder he’d been carrying around all day on the kitchen counter, raked a hand through his dark hair, and shot Ronan a pointed glare. 

“You’re being difficult on purpose,” he told Ronan matter-of-factly, like he’d known Ronan long enough to realize when disagreements quit being unintentional and became systematic. “If you don’t want to do this, no one’s twisting your arm.” 

“I’m fucking doing it,” Ronan snapped. He walked around the kitchen island and snatched a beer from the fridge, using the edge of the counter to pop off the lid. “I wouldn’t have someone drilling holes in my walls if I wasn’t fucking doing it.” 

Declan appraised the beer disapprovingly, but weighed his battles and decided Ronan’s level of difficulty outweighed a lecture on drinking before noon. 

“If you’re going to make renters feel unwelcome,” Declan started, “no one’s going to stay.” 

If it wasn’t for Ronan not wanting to waste his beer, he would’ve smashed the bottle over Declan’s head. He fucking hated when his older brother had a point. He hated even more when Declan had a point and knew _Ronan_ knew he had a point. 

“Fine,” Ronan huffed. He took a final swig of beer and dropped the empty bottle into the sink. “The den. That’s it.”

The next few weeks passed in similar fashion. 

Declan installed a lock for the den’s main door and switched out the grand sofa for a recliner, giving the room enough space to house a mattress without overcrowding. In the corner sat a desk, next to it a stream of bow windows, and below them a cushioned seat for what Declan claimed to be “personal and homey décor” (what the fuck ever). 

Off to the side stood a door to the den’s bathroom, and in a separate hallway Declan had turned the supply closet into a faux kitchen, which fit a mini fridge, a microwave, and absolutely nothing else. 

“You can’t restrict access to the kitchen,” Declan told Ronan. 

They were sitting on the couch, a mound of papers stacked neatly on Declan’s lap. Each time he switched to a new page, he licked his finger and thumb, a revolting habit that made Ronan thankful they saw each other only once a month. 

“Why the fuck not?” Ronan demanded. “That defeats the purpose of renovating the supply closet.”

“Because it’s illegal,” Declan replied mildly. He licked his fingers, moved to a new page. “Also, we renovated the closet as an added benefit to your tenant. I went over that with you.” 

“Must have buried it under the million other things you went over with me.”

Declan ignored him. He pulled a light pink paper out of the bunch and placed it on top, before transferring the entire stack to Ronan’s lap. 

“Sign this.” 

Ronan pulled a face. “The fuck is this shit?”

Declan held out a pen. “It’s the rental agreement I asked my lawyer to fax over. Inside, you’ll find the term of rental, household rules, and any other modifications we saw fit. Sign it.”

“I should talk to my lawyer first.” 

“You don’t have a lawyer.” 

“I should talk to Gansey first,” Ronan corrected. 

“Christ, Ronan, just sign it.” 

Ronan smiled thinly. He snatched the pen from Declan and signed his life away. 

-

“Have you found anyone interested in renting out the den?” Gansey asked. 

He and Blue invited themselves to the Barns for a last-minute barbecue Ronan never approved. If he wasn't such a decent fucking person, he would've locked the doors and hid under the kitchen counter until they gave up and left.

Also, Ronan forgot Gansey had a spare key.

“Everyone’s interested,” Ronan replied. He stabbed a fork at one of the hamburgers burning on the grill. Fucking figured Ronan got stuck cooking for a party he never threw.

“And?” Blue prompted. She sat in a rainbow-striped lawn chair with her feet propped up on Gansey’s lap, nursing a glass of Kool-Aid Ronan made, and should’ve poisoned. 

“And they all suck.” 

“Suck how?” Gansey wondered. 

Ronan slammed the cover on the grill and stalked over, dropping heavily into the lawn chair across from them. He lifted his boots onto Blue's legs, and both of them smiled when Gansey complained about the additional weight. Fucking served him right, the trespassing shit.

"Suck _how_?" Gansey repeated, when Ronan tilted his head back without answering. He picked some of the grass stuck in the sole of Ronan's boots and tossed it on the ground.

It slipped Ronan's mind to warn him he'd raked the barns about two nights ago. “They’re either eighteen wanting a cheap place or they’re a thousand.” 

Gansey frowned with his hand on top of Ronan's boot. “What’s wrong with the latter?” 

Blue snorted. “Just because you actually enjoy hanging out with old people, doesn’t mean everyone likes it.” 

Ronan tipped his beer towards her. Blue stretched forward to happily knock her glass against his bottle.

Gansey went on undeterred. “If there’s nothing obviously wrong with the person, I don’t see the issue. Old people need a place to live as well.” 

“Dude,” Ronan huffed. “If I have to share my kitchen, I don’t want to be stopped in the middle of an ice-cream run to hear fucking war stories.” 

“Not everyone over the age of fifty has fought in a war, Ronan.” 

Ronan considered this. “You’re right. You’d never make it past basic training.” 

Blue clanked her cup with Ronan’s beer again. 

Gansey ignored them, and the conversation came to a brief halt. He continued scraping dirt from under Ronan's boot, insisting he should _really take care of them, they're too expensive to be neglected_ , a sentence that had Blue's influence all over it. When Ronan delivered the sad news _that's cow shit you're touching_ , Gansey blenched and pushed Ronan's legs away.

“Hey,” Blue started, digging her heel into Gansey’s thigh until he quit desecrating Ronan's God-grown grass with his shit-covered hand and looked over. “What about Adam?” 

“What about who?” Ronan asked. 

Gansey's eyes lit up, his smile so bright it put the sun to shame. He forgot all about his soiled hand and reached for Blue. “Jane, you’re brilliant!” He kissed the top of her head, crushing the tuff of spikes Blue had sculpted with her bangs. “The thought never crossed my mind!” 

“Clearly,” Blue huffed, trying to fix her hair, but it laid limp on her forehead, Gansey's puppy-like excitement at fault.

“He’d be a perfect tenant,” Gansey continued. “Respectful, neat, within our age group. Why didn’t I think of this?” 

“Because you’re dumb?” Blue offered unhelpfully. She had settled back in her chair and kept casting hopeful looks at her bangs, like the sheer will and determination would be enough to persuade the gel back into place. 

“I should give him a call,” Gansey said, already out of his seat. He fished his phone out of his pocket and moved his fingers quickly across the screen. “Last time we spoke, he was moving things out of his current apartment. I doubt he’s found a place to—” 

“Who the fuck is Adam?” Ronan demanded, cutting Gansey off mid-renting out _his_ fucking room. He couldn't be happier that Gansey had unknowingly touched shit five minutes ago. 

Gansey blinked, as if he just realized Ronan didn't know every aspect of his life and the fact took a moment to process. “Oh. Adam. He’s my partner.” 

Ronan raised a brow. “Cheng and Sargent not enough?” 

“My _work_ partner, Ronan. Well, former partner,” Gansey amended, waving his hand like the details didn’t matter. “He moved to D.C. last year but accepted an internship in Roanoke last week.” 

“You want me to live with a Gansey 2.0?” Ronan scoffed. War stories sounded better and better. “There’s a reason I moved out of Monmouth.”

Gansey didn’t take the bait. “We roomed together in college our junior and senior year," he told Ronan, and his eyes narrowed a fraction when he said, "he’s the first roommate I had that I didn’t have to clean up after.” 

Gansey definitely took the bait. 

“Besides,” he continued. “It’s been two months since you posted the listing. Declan’s not an idiot. He’s probably figured out you’re rejecting every offer you receive. This would help you both out. Adam's cool.” 

_Cool._ Ronan had a hard time associating the word with anyone Gansey met in college. A bunch of vest-wearing nerds who spent their weekends cramming for tests their professors hadn't even warned them about yet. Ronan did his time in the nerd-department; he lived with Gansey for three years. 

"Hey," Blue interrupted his thoughts. "Adam's cool."

Ronan studied her. Studied her some more. He trusted Blue's verdict more than Gansey's, but not by much. After all, she was dating the biggest fucking loser God ever created, but that biggest fucking loser made a compelling argument. If Ronan didn't accept an offer soon, Declan would do it for him, and his idea of a decent roommate made Gansey's nerd-friend look like a double-fudge sundae. So Ronan shrugged and agreed, and Gansey's smile returned. 

"Great! I’ll give him a call right now," he promised, phone already pressed to his ear.

He disappeared inside the house and Blue leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees. “This might be a good time to let you know the grill’s on fire.” 

Ronan swiveled around and saw the grill engulfed in black smoke. 

_Shit._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the awaited second part ~ sorry it took a few days, writer block hit hard with this one.

“Are you excited?” Gansey asked. 

He had arrived a little after ten this morning carrying a boxful of Adam’s belongings, chipper as a fucking songbird. Had he known Ronan planned his demise the entire time they were lugging boxes from the back of the Pig into the den, he would’ve clipped his wings and shut the hell up. How Ronan got drafted to move Adam’s shit, he didn’t know, but no amount of bitching had deterred Gansey from slapping a giant box in his hands and ushering him away like a child. 

“I already hate him,” Ronan replied. They sat on the lower step of his front porch, nursing cold beers Gansey brought along as a consolation prize, watching for Blue’s shitty Corolla to turn into the driveway. 

“You have to meet someone to hate them,” Gansey told him. 

“Not when that someone owns a book on Plato. That’s everything I need to know.” 

Gansey’s brows furrowed. “The philosopher? What’s wrong with Plato?” 

“What’s not wrong with Plato?” Ronan countered.

“He had a tremendous influence on Western civilization.” 

Ronan snorted and took a swig of beer. “Yeah, well, Western civilization sucks.” 

Now Gansey rolled his eyes, more fond than irritated. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Jane, I see.” 

“Says the guy fucking married to her.” 

“We’re not married, Ronan,” Gansey huffed, blushing darkly. Then his face split into an abrupt smile. “Oh, there they are.” 

Blue’s rusted Corolla eased up the gravel road at fucking five miles per hour, a piece of shit car in worse shape than the Pig. A single strip of hot pink duct tape kept the front fender from flying off, and in place of working windshield wipers, Blue had fastened two mini pride flags inside the beams, an aesthetic appeal that did jack fuck for durability. If she ever drove in the rain (she didn’t), she’d be wrapped around a tree in under a minute.

“I’m sure Adam’s brought more,” Gansey told Ronan, stepping down from the porch. “We should –” 

“Fuck no,” Ronan interrupted, on his feet. “You and Blue can carry Wonder Boy’s shit into the den. I have to find the spare key.” 

Without giving Gansey the chance to guilt him into a second round of manual labor, Ronan hurried inside the house. Before Declan escaped to D.C., he had made a spare set of keys for Ronan’s tenant: one for the front door, one for the back door, and one for the den. He entrusted them with Ronan and asked the simple favor, _can you please not lose these, they’re too expensive to keep replacing._

Naturally, Ronan lost them the next day. 

He searched the living room first, moving cushions and lifting chairs, and when he didn’t find them there, he tried the kitchen. Opened the cabinets, the drawers, even shoved aside a half-empty milk carton to scour the fridge, hoping he’d left the keys in there as he did his phone once or twice, or five times before.

No luck. Ronan blamed Declan for fucking _jinxing_ him. If he hadn’t put the thought in Ronan’s head, Ronan wouldn’t have sat the keys down and left them God knew where. Now, he had no choice but to share the main set with Adam until he located the spare or replaced them. Which meant seeing more of him than Ronan planned. 

Fucking great. His life sucked. 

The kitchen door swung open and Gansey’s head popped in. He took in the mess first, and then Ronan’s state, his dark brows pulling together before his expression smoothed out.

“Oh. Are you looking for the keys? Blue and Adam –” 

“Can fucking chill,” Ronan cut in, stepping around Gansey to reach the hallway. “Declan’s already gonna chew my ass out later tonight, so I don’t need a second lecture from your girlfriend and brainiac friend.” 

“Ronan-” Gansey tried, his tone urgent, but Ronan bulldozed on, his heavy boots echoing on the wooden floors as he stomped towards the den.

“I mean, seriously, man, what the hell? You said this guy was cool, but I’m starting to think you and Sargent have a very loose definition of that word.” He ignored Gansey spluttering behind him as he threw open the door to the den. “Anyone who butchers their free time by reading fucking _Phaedrus_ is probably a bigger loser than-” 

Ronan came to a sudden halt, the words dying in his mouth. Standing in the den was a man Ronan had never met before, and behind him, Blue. Her arms were crossed, and expression pinched, like she either wanted to hurl a book at Ronan’s head or laugh in his face but couldn’t decide. 

“Ronan,” she greeted, her voice mockingly polite. She spread her arms in a grand gesture and said the very last thing Ronan wanted to hear: “This is Adam.” 

And Ronan had just accidentally insulted him to his face.

Adam cleared his throat. In his hand laid the set of keys Ronan had searched high and low for. “You left these in the backdoor.” Then, “It’s pronounced _Phae_ drus, by the way.”

-

Gansey and Blue stuck around for an hour. They were currently offering Adam a half-assed tour of the Barns, cut short by limitations and restricted access, but Gansey worked with what he had. Spent ten minutes discussing the history of the kitchen, believing if he droned on about a topic that interested no one it would disguise the fact Adam had liberty to visit only two rooms in the entire house.

Fat chance of that. 

The entire time Gansey spoke about _his_ home, Ronan kept sneaking glances at Adam. He nodded along with whatever bogus shit Gansey spewed out, his eyes following where Gansey gestured, an attentive host with a mindful guest. Two show birds: one who soaked it up and one who encouraged it. At least now it made sense why Gansey treasured this specific Harvard alumni. 

“Shall we visit outside?” Gansey asked, the question ripping Ronan out of his thoughts and knocking him square on his ass. 

Before Ronan could cast his vote, _no fucking way_ , Gansey led the group out of the kitchen and through the front door. As soon as their feet hit the porch, Ronan pulled Gansey away from his posse. They paused on the lower step, lost without their leader. 

Gansey waved a hand. “Go on and show him around, Blue. We’ll catch up in a moment.” 

Blue’s gaze cut to Ronan’s, but he refused to acknowledge her. He didn’t need her disapproving head shake to confirm what he already knew: He was acting like a jackass. She murmured low for Adam to hear, and the pair started towards the lone barn at the edge of Ronan’s field. 

Once they left, Gansey shook free of Ronan’s hold. “What is it?” he demanded, some of his hospitality chipping away to reveal a real person underneath. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ronan hissed. “He doesn’t need to visit the stables.” 

“Maybe he would enjoy the cows.” 

“Everyone enjoys cows,” Ronan shot back. “That’s not the point.” 

Gansey’s mouth pinched in irritation. “Is there a point, Ronan? If so, I’d appreciate if you went ahead and made it.” 

Ronan struggled to form a response. Adam exploring his home bothered Ronan because it _did_. Gansey showcasing areas of the Barns reserved for friends and family bothered Ronan because it _did_. Adam’s piercing gaze, with his china blue eyes pretty enough for a girl, bothered Ronan because it _did_. 

“I work out here,” he settled on, when nothing else came to mind. “I’m allowed to want privacy, aren’t I?”

Gansey saw through the lame ass excuse. “You own two-hundred-fifty acres of land–” 

“Two-hundred-forty,” Ronan corrected. 

“—and utilize a small portion of it for work,” Gansey continued. “I think you can spare the company, Ronan.” 

Ronan opened his mouth; clamped it shut; opened it again; clamped it shut. He couldn’t argue the point without revealing the true nature of his unease, how the mere presence of Adam had almost unraveled him on the spot. Hopefully the lease would expire before Ronan had the chance to make a complete ass of himself, or he’d rip Gansey a new one the size of the Pacific for not disclosing the simple fact that Adam looked like the fucking human embodiment of every wet dream.

“Whatever,” Ronan relented. “If he annoys the piss out of me, I’m not held liable for my actions.” 

“I’m sure assaulting your tenant would result in a hefty law-suit, actually,” Gansey informed him. 

Ronan held up his middle finger and together, they rejoined the others poking around in the barn. 

-

Later that evening, Ronan sat in the kitchen with an entire tub of vanilla ice-cream slowly defrosting. 

After the tour came to an end, Gansey and Blue delivered the fortunate news they needed to head out. Blue had hugged Ronan for the excuse to pull him down and whisper, “Be fucking nice or I’ll kick your ass,” and Ronan had grunted his response. They left with the promise to return soon, and the moment their two equally shitty cars disappeared down the gravel road, Ronan had spun on his heels and fled into the Barns. 

Not the most heartwarming of welcomes, but it beat the alternative of lingering outside with Adam while he fired up the awkward small talk, which would’ve inevitably ended with Ronan evading inside the Barns anyway. Quick to the draw, or whatever shit. His behavior would earn a series of lectures from Gansey on proper hospitality and a couple backhanded insults from Blue, but nothing Ronan couldn’t handle. 

Would much rather handle, actually, than dealing with the consequences of being alone with Adam. 

The thing was, if Gansey favored him and Blue enjoyed his company, Adam probably made a decent person and a generous friend. So, apply logic, and Ronan had no justifiable reason to give him the cold shoulder, but logic and Ronan were tentative acquaintances at best. It never appeared when he needed it the most, like now, to tell him avoiding his new roommate wouldn’t make him disappear and ignoring his good looks wouldn’t make him unattractive. 

“Hey,” came a voice behind Ronan. Adam stepped into view, his sand-colored hair wet and dripping water onto his shoulders. He smelled like pine needles and cheap aftershave. “You care if I sit?” 

_Yes_ , Ronan thought. “No,” he answered. He lowered his bare feet to the ground and Adam claimed the newly vacant chair across from him. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. It was infinitely worse than talking at all, but Ronan refused to break the silence first. He stared at the small puddle forming under the tub of ice-cream, pulling a thin stream towards the edge of the table. 

“So,” Adam started, dragging out the vowel, “I’m guessing you don’t want me here.” 

Ronan jerked his head up. “What?” 

Adam shrugged. He stood up to collect a few paper towels hanging above the sink and returned to mop up the mess Ronan created. Well, not created, but didn’t prevent, either. He averted his gaze from Adam’s hands as he pressed the napkins into the surface of the table. 

“You’ve barely looked at me all day—” _Because I almost shit myself every time you look back._ “—and you sort of ditched me as soon as Gansey left with Blue. I don’t need a degree to know when I’m unwanted.” 

A weight settled in the pit of Ronan’s stomach. The whole time he avoided staring at Adam, it never occurred to Ronan that Adam might’ve been staring at him. Assessing his behavior and chalking it up to the wrong conclusion, and who could blame him? Ronan didn’t exactly spell out another reason for avoiding him like the fucking plague. 

“It’s not about you,” he replied, lowering his eyes to the damp paper towels probably staining his table. 

“What’s it about then?” 

Ronan risked a glance up. Adam had his elbows braced on the table, his chin lowered in the palm of his hand, piercing eyes keeping Ronan rooted in his seat despite every instinct urging him to fucking bolt. 

“Okay, maybe it’s a little about you,” Ronan confessed. He collected the pile of paper towels and walked them to the trashcan, more for an excuse to remove himself from Adam’s line of focus.

Adam twisted around in his seat to face him. He wouldn’t let Ronan get off that easy, it seemed. “What about me?” 

Ronan huffed. His hands were sticky, his ice-cream had melted into a fucking milkshake, and he didn’t feel like diving into the gay-extensional-crisis that arose when he first noticed Adam. All sun-kissed skin with a disarray of freckles, like God had flicked the end of a paintbrush at his face and the specks of paint landed wherever the fuck. The sandy blonde hair that curled around his ears endearingly, unevenly chopped but fit Adam’s angular bone structure in a way it wouldn’t suit anyone else. Captivating hands Ronan couldn’t stop admiring, even when he refused to acknowledge Adam for most of the day. 

Something in Ronan’s expression must’ve given him away because Adam had suddenly climbed to his feet, his own expression unreadable as he crowded in front of Ronan, repeating, “What about me?” 

Jesus and Mary and every other bastard up there who landed Ronan in this situation. Adam stood so close his breath fanned Ronan’s face, leaving behind the strong scent of evergreen that used to remind him of Gansey, but now he felt drunk off it, thinking of no one but Adam.

“You’re not what I imagined when Gansey mentioned his college friend,” Ronan admitted, his voice strained. Under the scrutiny of Adam’s gaze, he felt like his vanilla ice-cream, thawed out and liquified. “I thought you’d look more like a loser and less like someone I’d make out with.” 

Adam’s brow twitched, just slightly. “It’d probably be easier to make out with someone who wasn’t confined to the one room in your house you don’t have access to.” 

“I’ll tell my brother to write up a new lease tomorrow,” Ronan answered without a second thought. 

“Good,” Adam replied. His eyes flickered to Ronan’s mouth for a fraction of a second, before he stepped away and the air rushed back to fill Ronan’s lungs. “Come find me when the ice-cream regains its form.” 

The second Adam disappeared out of sight, Ronan scrambled to find his phone. He texted Declan: 

_hey can you ask your lawyer to write up a new lease that grants my tenant full access to the barns so he’s not technically breaking the law when i take him to my room_

_Jesus Christ, Ronan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if the ending felt rushed, but unless i stretched this fic out to at least four chapters i didn't have any other way to write it without getting suuuuper long. might one day throw in a short epilogue to even it out but alas here's the final part! 
> 
> thanks for reading! 
> 
> kudos are appreciated, but comments are encouraged :~)


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a surprise epilogue ~ 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

The porch creaked under Adam’s weight. He held himself still; his shoulders drawn to his ears, breath caught in his lungs, as he listened closely. 

Waited. 

The bush to his right rustled, and then a hushed voice hissed something Adam couldn’t quite make out. He tightened his grip around the flashlight and tiptoed towards the commotion, reached the edge of the porch, and leaned over the banister with a pleased, “Ah-ha!” 

He shined the light directly into Gansey’s startled expression and Blue’s mildly irritated one. They were hunkered below several thin branches, Gansey’s own flashlight upside down and useless. 

“That was awfully quick,” he told Adam, waiting for Blue to crawl through the minuscule opening before he followed. “And for that, I’m eternally grateful. I think a spider crawled up the leg of my shorts.” 

“Poor spider,” Blue muttered, picking leaves out of her hair. “If Dick the Third could be quiet for _five seconds_ , I would’ve heard you coming.” She pointed to Adam’s flashlight. “That thing doesn’t stand a chance against these legs.” 

Adam raised a dusty brow. “I don’t think I trust your confidence,” he told her, turning the light back onto Gansey. “You chose him as a partner for flashlight tag.” 

Gansey’s shielded his eyes against the light. “I happen to be an excellent runner. I reserved the spot as team captain for Aglionby’s rowing team."

“You row with your arms.” 

“Sometimes the legs are involved, especially when your teammate leans the oar the wrong way and tips the racing shell.” 

Blue and Adam rolled their eyes together. He lowered the flashlight. 

“You know where Ronan went?” 

Gansey grinned. "Now, now, Adam, that's cheating. We aren't a family of cheaters, are we?" 

Adam lifted the flashlight back into his face, blinding him a final time before he set off across the field. 

Two months. Adam had lived at the Barns for two months, and the novelty of it had yet to wear off, if it ever would. The fireflies were bright and full, lighting the open field of flowers and sleeping cows curled under willow trees, a few light-coated deer lingering at the edge of the forest, unafraid and comfortable. Adam had never seen a more beautiful home in his entire life, and once he left, he doubted he’d ever discover a place that even came close to matching the wonders of the Barns. 

Adam had just neared the fence when he heard a scraping sound behind him. He swiveled around and caught Ronan’s bird perched on top of the barn door, peering down at him, completely unfazed by the bright light. 

“Chainsaw,” he greeted, his tone formal and polite. “Whose team are _you_ on?” 

She regarded him with dark eyes for a moment, before tilting her head towards the entrance of the barns. “ _Kerah_ ,” she croaked quietly. 

Adam flashed a smile. “Thanks,” he told her, immensely pleased that he could turn Ronan’s own bird against him during battle. “I’ll sneak you extra treats tonight for your services.”

She ruffled her feathers in response and watched Adam enter the barns. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the absence of fireflies and illumination from the moon, guided only by his flashlight now. 

“Ronan,” he whispered, hovering the light inside the hayloft. “You in here?” 

Nothing. Adam’s eyes narrowed a fraction. He turned to look back at Chainsaw, but she had disappeared from the doorway, nowhere to be seen. _Great._ Had he been played by a raven? 

"I already promised her extra treats if she brought you here," came a voice from above. Adam spun the flashlight back around, but he couldn't distinguish the shape of Ronan from the bales of hay stacked against the railing even if he tried. 

"You fell right into my elaborate scheme," Ronan continued, his heavy boots loud on the upper part of the barn as he walked.

Adam kept his flashlight pointed in the direction he thought he'd heard Ronan's footsteps. "You planning to cower behind hay bales all night, Lynch, or you gonna come out and face me?"

There was a clamor as one of the hoes propped against the wall tipped over. _Got him._ Adam advanced towards the ladder, his foot halfway on the first step when something-- _someone_ \--dropped behind him. He twisted around to find Ronan standing there, icy blue eyes squinting against the harsh light, his mouth curved into a satisfied little smirk.

Adam blinked. "You lost," he told Ronan, dumbfounded. He hadn't expected Ronan to surrender to defeat so quickly. "Your _grand scheme_ was to sell yourself out?" 

Ronan shrugged. He stepped closer and lowered the flashlight, keeping his hand on top of Adam's. "Part of it." 

A surprised laugh pulled out of Adam. "Did you seriously pay your bird to lead me here, just so we could make out?" 

Now Ronan grinned. He unhooked Adam's fingers from the flashlight, before he switched it off and tossed it aside. They were almost in complete darkness now, with only a sliver of light bleeding through the windows and small cracks in the wood, casting dark shadows across Ronan's sharp features, though Adam knew firsthand the harsh definition didn't run deeper than appearance. 

"Figured we could enjoy ourselves for a bit," Ronan answered, "while also annoying the shit out of Sargent for taking too long. It's a win-win situation, Parrish." 

"For you." 

Ronan arched a dark brow. He inched forward, until there was no space at all between them, and ducked his head to catch Adam's mouth in a slow kiss. Lasted barely five seconds before Ronan broke off, nodding, telling Adam, "You're right, we should probably head back." 

When he stepped away, Adam reached out and hooked a finger in the hem of his shirt, dragging him close again. "Maybe it's a slight win for me, too," he murmured, and met Ronan's laugh with a kiss. 

He forgot about the game in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i wrote this in under 20 mins because i had a burst of motivation and didn't want it to die out before this ever saw the light.... pls ignore any grammatical errors, or just curse me out for them in the comment section u decide! 
> 
> kudos are appreciated, comments are encouraged :~)


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